Page 143 of Kingmakers, Year One

“Then tell me.”

“I’m an Aquarius.”

“Then that’s the first tattoo I’ll get,” Leo said. “As soon as we get home. Just tell me where you want me to put it.”

Leo turns me around on Professor Holland’s desk, turning me to face him so my legs are wrapped around his waist and he can kiss me while he fucks me.

He’s got my long rope of hair wrapped around his hand, and he’s crushing my lips under his, driving into me so hard that the desk is shaking and I’m afraid its legs will snap off.

As I start to come, I think that I’ll tell him to get his tattoo in the same place as mine. So they’ll be touching when our bodies are pressed together just like this.

31

LEO

It’s the last challenge of theQuartum Bellum,and the last week of school.

In three days, we’ll be boarding the ship to go back to Dubrovnik, the splinter point where the Kingmakers students will fly to every possible corner of the globe.

Anna and I will be flying home to Chicago together, to tell our families in person that we’re in love, and we intend to be together.

I look forward to that, and to a whole summer with nothing to do but spend every possible moment with Anna.

Before I can do that, however, I’ve got to win this fucking challenge.

My desire to win has come roaring back. It’s stronger than ever, but different than it was before. It’s not for me anymore. I want to make Anna proud.

She told me she doesn’t care if we win or lose—“You already did better than anyone could expect.”

But Anna deserves a champion.

The Juniors are out. It’s just the Freshmen against the Seniors now.

As with the previous challenges, I have no idea what we’ll be facing today. Even so, I’m not nervous. I’m not afraid. Anna will be with me, right by my side. I can do this.

The Freshmen assemble on the field just south of Kingmakers, the same place that the second challenge took place. This time there’s no triangular pitch marked out in spray paint. In fact, there’s no sign of any challenge about to commence, other than a simple wooden box set on the grass—the sort of box that could hold athletic equipment, pinnies, or almost anything, really.

Professor Howell, dressed in his usual olive-green fatigues with a silver stopwatch hanging around his neck, looks keen and expectant as the Seniors join us.

Pippa Portnoy is standing at the head of her team, with Liam Murphy right beside her. Liam is an Heir in his own right, tall and fit, with a flaming red beard and a shock of hair in the same color, tied back with a thong.

Liam is well-respected by his IRA soldiers. He’s quick and competent, one of the best marksmen in the school, yet he defers to his betrothed Pippa. Which tells you everything you need to know about how clever and ruthless she must be.

She’s watching me now with her dark eyes as bright as a magpie’s. She shows no irritation that she’s facing us in the final round of the competition, or that we stole her flag in the first challenge. If anything, she’s smiling in anticipation.

“Welcome, Freshmen. Welcome, Seniors,” Professor Howell says pleasantly. “What a perfect day for the final challenge.”

He’s right—the sky is clear and cloudless, the sun brilliant, and only the faintest hint of a breeze stirring the grass around our feet.

“For this final challenge, you won’t need your entire team. Instead, you’ll be selecting six Freshmen and six Seniors to perform the final task.”

“Six including ourselves?” Pippa clarifies.

“Six inadditionto yourselves,” Professor Howell says, smiling so that his pointed incisors show.

I ask, “Will you be telling us what the task is first?” The parameters of the challenge would, of course, influence who I’d want to select.

“No,” Professor Howell says, smiling even wider. “You’ll have to pick first.”

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